


I'm Only Human

by AHM1121



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Actual plot, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And feels. Literally all the feels, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Civil War Fix-It, Dirty Talking Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub Undertones, Face-Fucking, Flashbacks, JARVIS is a good bro, Just another song inspired fic, M/M, Metal Arm Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Nightmares, One Shot, Past Torture, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Rimming, Super Soliders can't live off grapes alone, Therapy, Top Bucky Barnes, and porn, starts sad ends happy, the end is mostly porn because honestly thats what we thrive on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 16:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17005326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHM1121/pseuds/AHM1121
Summary: “He shouldn’t be confused staring down the scope at the man, smiling and waving at some sorta charity event covered in red, white, and blue. The images shuffle again like a deck a cards.Captain America. Right.He was staring down his scope of his high caliber rifle at the back of Captain America’s head. Primed to complete his mission. His finger edged towards the trigger, this time he would follow through.Pull the trigger.He tells himself.Now.But then the man turns and his blue eyes glance up, dead into the scope.How could that be from fifty stories up?The Asset wonders.Now. Shoot now. God dammit Buck do it.Buck? Where the fuck did that come from?"





	I'm Only Human

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a sucker for a one shot song fic #CivilWarFixIt. Writing this broke my heart and cured my anxiety.
> 
> Largely inspired by “Human” - Rag’n’Bone Man… after listening to it on repeat for a month.
> 
> ______
> 
> All the love in the world to the best beta a girl could ask for,[MissyRivers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissyRivers/pseuds/MissyRivers) ... WHO JUST POSTED HER FIRST EVER MULTI CHAPTER FIC! (I'm spoiled and have a sneak peak at what's to come, let me tell y'all IT'S LEGIT!)

 

_I'm only human_

_Maybe I'm foolish_

_Maybe I'm blind_

The Asset’s mind blinked through the images and presented him with the present date. He shouldn’t be surprised to find himself on the top of Avengers tower, cheek pressed against the cold metal of the scope. He’s been on high buildings while holding sniper rifles before. He’s seen flashes of things in his mind and has ached to understand them, but years of psychological warfare, shock therapy, and a cold water hose to his naked body has taught him to forget. _That’s right._ That’s why he ran from the compound in the first place. He shouldn’t be confused staring down the scope at the man, smiling and waving at some sorta charity event covered in red white and blue. The images shuffle again like a deck a cards. _Captain America. Right._ He was staring down the scope of his high caliber rifle at the back of Captain America’s head. Primed to complete his mission. His finger edges towards the trigger; this time he would follow through.

The target was locked. That was before the man slid off the ridiculous blue cowl and the shock of sunny blonde hair stuck up in every direction. _Pull the trigger_ . He tells himself. _Now_ . Another card shuffle in his brain reminded him that he’d been chasing Captain America for months. A mission he was given years ago but was never quite able to complete. The only one still open. This wasn’t the first time he had locked in on him and hesitated. There was always a global event happening. A catastrophe that put Captain America right in his path, along with the voice inside his head that never let him take the shot. The Asset always found an excuse. But then the man turns and his blue eyes glance up, dead into the scope. _How could that be from fifty stories up?_ The Asset wonders. _Now. Shoot now. God dammit Buck do it_.

 _Buck? Where the fuck did that come from_ ? He shakes his head, the Brooklyn accent dissolving as his finger graces over the trigger. Those blue eyes frown. A penetrative gaze that doesn’t waver despite the massive amount of danger that’s placed up above. _This guy’s an idiot_ . He’s staring at a sniper for a solid fifteen seconds. The Asset’s finger twitches. _Get it done Soldier_ . Pierces’ voice ricochets around in his head, confusing him. He had turned off his coms months ago. Detached himself from Hydra months ago. This was his last mission. He just had to complete this last mission and his brain would let him be free, finally. Always on the run, but free. _Do it_. He tells himself, and it’s like the sunny haired super soldier can read his mind because he’s shaking his head slowly, a small smile in place, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Staring as the rest of The Avengers circle him, eyes locking on his position.

“Блядь.” He mutters, before pulling back the rifle, and disappearing from sight.

_______

 _Thinking I can see through this_ _  
_ _And see what's behind_

“Seriously. He was on my Tower Cap, practically pissin’ on my terrirtory.” Tony glares at him, the faceplate of his suit pulled back, revealing an annoyed Tony Stark.

“Leave it alone, Tony.” Steve sighed.

“At least let me start to track him, Steve.” Nat asks, knowing the answer.

“No.”

Steve walks away, joining Sam in the back seat of the armored car they had brought to the charity event.

“You gonna tell them that he’s been at almost every single mission for the past five months?”

“Nope. Are you?”

Sam rubbed his face tiredly. “Gotta tell ya, I’m half tempted to. What if he pulls the trigger the next time, man?”

“He won't.”

“How do you know?”

 “I don’t."

“I feel like you’re just waiting for something to happen.” Sam glanced at Steve as he stares at out the window.

“Maybe I am.”

___

 _Got no way to prove it_ _  
_ _So maybe I'm blind_

(Three weeks later)

  
He tore out of the dream, a scream trapped in his throat, clawing at damp sheets as he sat up. Chest heaving, he leans his head back against the headboard. The clock blinks at him ironically - three am. He was so fuckin’ close this time. Right there. Every time he’s right fuckin’ there. Right at the tip of Steve’s fingers. If he had just leaned out of the train car a little further. Maybe he should have just fallen with him. Dying with the person you loved ( _who you had unresolved feelings for for over seventy years_ ) wouldn’t be so bad, would it? But he wasn’t dead. And Bucky had been following him for months. Closer this time than he was on the other missions. Practically on Steve’s door step. His heart aches for it, knowing he’s there, but not quite close enough, is almost too much pressure on his being.

Kicking the blankets off, he walks out of his room, through the spread of his apartment towards the kitchen. Stopping short at the tall glass of ice water sitting on the counter, the contents wavering as if it was just poured. Steve’s hand slips down to grasp the shield below the bar stool, sliding it on as his eyes roam cautiously over the rest of the area. “Jarvis?

“Yes, Captain?”

“Who was here?”

“Sergeant Barnes, Captain.”

Steve’s gut does a slow roll. “How’d he get in?” He asks, making his way through the living room. Nothing is disturbed or out of place.

“Through the door to your balcony, Captain. I do believe it was already unlocked.”

Steve felt irritation rise, drawing his shoulders up he took a breath, trying desperately for some shred of calm. “Why didn’t you alert me, Jarvis?”

“Threat level was zero. Sergeant Barnes was wearing civilian clothes, and a full body scan showed no weapons other than his arm. He stood at your door, poured a glass of water before you woke, and left, sir.”

Steve’s hand hesitates at the door, before clasping the handle and trying to move it. Finding it locked he frowns.

“I do believe Sergeant Barnes locked it on his way out, sir.”

Steve rolls his eyes at the tone. “Yeah got it, thanks Jarvis.” Flipping the lock, he heads out onto the elaborate balcony, the air just cool enough that it had a bite to it. He wasn’t expecting to find the man leaning against the railing looking out across the city, wearing jeans and a red henley.

“Bucky?” Captain America’s voice was quiet, and unsteady.

Steve watched the man turn, the broad shoulders tense, his metal hand flexing at his side, either an unconscious habit, or preparing for a fight.

“I…” The Asset’s brain does a quick shuffle and brings up a picture that looks so much like the man in front him, just considerably smaller. Impossibly small. The man in front of him in his striped pajamas, with his ridiculously broad bare chest, is not the small man in the picture. Then he reminds himself that this is Captain America, the man Hydra told him had been genetically modified just as The Asset had. After a moments pause the shuffle happens again and it’s useful enough to supply him with a name. “You’re...Steve.”

Steve’s heart clenches, his body instinctively pushes him forward, to which Bucky takes a step back, bumping into the balcony, almost startled to remember the balcony is there at all. _No escape route. Didn’t complete the mission. You’re slacking, Soldier. Prepare to wipe him._ He shakes Pierce’s voice out of his head with a wince before cautiously peering back at the man’s impossibly blue eyes. He can’t read the emotion. Anger he’s used to, but this is different. His eyebrows are drawn together, not quite a frown…it’s like he’s silently pleading for an answer The Asset doesn’t know how to give.

Steve halts his movement. Maintaining eye contact, he holds up one hand while slowly lowering the shield. Bucky’s eyes watch him like a deer in the headlights.

Every instinct is telling The Asset to run. _Leave before he strikes. Leave before he figures you out. Leave before you try to kill him again_.

“Bucky.” Steve can’t seem to think of another word.

“I don’t know who that is.” Bucky says, instantly hating the wrenching in his gut that comes when Steve’s...Captain America’s...no it’s Steve’s, face falls. “I’m sorry.” He’s quick to apologize.

“You don’t have to apologize. Do you know your name?” Steve asks, watching the contorted confusion as he searches the archives of his brain waiting for a flash, a shuffle...anything. He shakes his head instead.

“I um...” He presses his lips together with a frown of concentration that evolves into evident distress. “Winter Soldier I think is my code name. I stole my Hydra files. My handlers cal- called me, The Asset.”

Steve’s eyes close as the words wash over him. All he wanted to do was hold his best friend. To take it all away. To go back to the 1940’s and run from this shit. Scars that aren’t visible are being ripped open right and left. “Alright.” Steve decides. “So what do you call yourself?”

“I...don’t know.” Bucky looks so panicked at the idea of not having a name that his fist clenches in double time.

“Hey, hey pal, it’s okay.” Steve reaches out an open palm, a peace offering and a desperate plea to feel Bucky’s skin against his one more time. “You left your water on the bar, why don’t we go back inside, relax and talk. I promise I won’t hurt you, and,” he thinks over what Sam says about victims of abuse not wanting to be caged, “we’ll leave the door open, you can leave at anytime, alright?”

Bucky hesitates, staring at the hand while not quite being able to put his finger on the last time he had non-violent physical contact with another human. “The water was for you.” He states before letting his hand settle into Steve’s. A shocking familiarity encases the gesture.

____  
_But I'm only human after all_  
_I'm only human after all_ _  
Don't put your blame on me_

(One Month Later)

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me Cap!? He’s been here every night for a fuckin’ month, and no one thought to let me know?!” Tony rubs his hand over his brow and into his hair, leaving it sticking up and disheveled. “Why even bother telling me now?”

“Because he needs help.” Steve states simply.

“Oh, oh he needs help does he? So what Cap, you’re suggesting that I should just let the guy who points a sniper at your head go galavanting around my tower?!” Steve’s not even looking at Tony and it’s pissing Tony off. Steve’s eyes are trained to the back of the subject of the matter who is staring out the large paneled window, back flinching with every sticadoed word out of Tony’s mouth that are solely based on his wrong doings.

“He was brainwashed by Hydra for decades on end, Tony. If you can’t get that through your rock hard head, then maybe you’re not as smart as you’re always claiming to be.” Steve shifts, turning back to Tony, his hands clenched at his sides.

Their arguing continues while Bucky watches their muted reflection in the window. Mainly he watches Steve. He can’t seem to stop watching Steve. Which has become a running theme over the course of the month. The habit was formed early; show up on the balcony, come inside, door is left open (just in case), Steve’s shield was left on the opposite end of the room (which Bucky felt was stupid but apparently typical), sit, talk, look over different documents that Bucky had brought, and flinch at seeing his smiling face from yellowing photographs Steve kept in a leather bound book with various sketches. Steve always looks at him so hopefully, and Bucky hates letting him down. But the man with the wide smile and hope in his eyes…he barely knows him. Flashes of smoke filled bars and swing music blaring, a glimpse of a slender thing, blue eyes full of fury gliding under him…it doesn’t make sense. Thirty one days in and he can’t help but feel. Which is new. It’s been so long since he’s simply felt. So he stares at Steve and lets every terrifying emotion wash over him as if Steve’s the ocean and Bucky is simply the sand.

His attention snaps back as the tension in the room takes a dramatic rise. Turning, he sees Steve almost toe to toe with Tony Stark, and Tony Stark…Tony Stark is impossibly close, chest pressing into Steve’s as their words assault the air ( _this feeling…_ his brain clicks to the name, _jealousy…this is new and will be analyzed later_ ). Before he can process his own actions, he’s yanking Steve, who lets out a startled yelp at the unexpected intervention, behind him and he’s snarling into Tony Stark’s face, poised for a fight. Tony Stark stares at him with a mixture of fear and abject disbelief while backing away with his palms up.

A thundering silence passes between the three before Tony looks over Bucky’s shoulder in bewilderment. “Is...is he still brainwashed, Cap?”

“Buck.” Steve says softly, brushing his fingertips along the back of the metal arm. It’s the first time they’ve touched since Bucky showed up on his balcony. The sensors pick it up and Bucky fights the simultaneous urge to relax into it and flinch away. “C’mon, he isn’t a threat.” Steve murmurs.

“I…” Bucky stutters with a glance at his shoes, desperately trying to figure out the lead up of the situation and why he feels the need to protect Steve Rogers. “...I’m sorry, Stark.”

Tony’s eyebrows raise to his hairline, “Wow. Been a while since I’ve had an apology from a former Hydra assassin.” He grins ironically, while Steve hisses through his teeth at the response, before turning his back and walking to Steve’s door. “Alright, Cap. Your wish is my command. Jarvis, Bucky only gets access to Cap’s floor, no one else’s until he’s cleared. I need a list of psychologists for wounded vets within the hour.”

  
“Yes, sir.” The voice answers and Bucky’s eyes fly to the ceiling, and damned if that doesn’t make Stark laugh.  

“We’ll brief with the team in the morning, Cap. Barnes.”  Stark nods to them both before clicking the door closed.

A brief silence passes between the two as they stare at the door in Tony’s wake. “This is a bad idea.” Bucky turns. “I don’t know…I don’t know how to do this.”

Steve’s reaches forward again, lightly brushing his fingertips along the back of Bucky’s left hand, watching the flinch, as Bucky’s eyes dart to and away from the appendage, as if terrified to acknowledge its existence. “That’s okay.” Steve affirms, before capturing his bottom lip between his teeth. “I, uh… We can star-... I don’t know where you’re staying right now, but if you want, I have a guest bedroom.” Steve gestures down the hall to the door across from his own. “It’s got it’s own balcony so you can come and go, however you’ve been managing that through there if you end up not wanting to umm...sleep...here.” Steve trails off.

Bucky nods. “Alright." 

____  
_Take a look in the mirror_  
_And what do you see_  
_Do you see it clearer_  
_Or are you deceived_  
_In what you believe_

(Two months later)

Steve is used to coming back from missions to the quiet of his apartment, where he can let the stress of battle wash away under the steady stream of a hot shower, and order in Chinese food. He’s used to laying in bed for hours and replaying the mission over and over again in his mind, picking at his cuticles until they bleed, only to heal themselves within seconds so that he can pick at them again. He’s used to being pissed off at the lives he couldn’t save, and punching holes in the walls that are magically fixed the next day. He’s not used to coming home to someone pacing in his apartment, wearing soft gray sweatpants and one of Steve’s t-shirts. He’s not used used to having this particular someone be worried for him, because the last time that happened it was the 1940’s and he was getting beat up in back allies. So when he opens the door to his apartment, after being gone for a two week mission, he’s not ready to be met with Bucky Barnes, wearing a look of concern and wringing his hands, while stopped midpace, staring at Steve as if he wanted to both kill and hug him.

Bucky stares like a deer in the headlights. They haven’t been through this yet. They had a routine before Steve left. Steve would wake up and go running, Bucky would wake up in the unfamiliar room, jolting at his surroundings before the little shuffle in his brain would remind him that the soft blue walls were home now. Steve would make breakfast and offer Bucky half of his bagel with a small smile, and Bucky would take it wearily, nibbling while contemplating escape routes for when his therapists came. Steve would finish eating and take his plate to the dishwasher before walking behind Bucky, a small touch on the shoulder that made something ache inside both of them before heading to shower. By the time Steve was out of the shower Bucky would be in his room for a session with his therapist. Steve would sit on the couch, watch the behavioral therapist leave, and he would offer Bucky a snack before the PTSD therapist arrived. There wasn’t any in-depth conversation up until this point. No sharing of feelings, no lists of concerns. The therapists had warned Steve not to push Bucky to talk, that eventually he would. They always told Steve he was doing better and making progress. Bucky would come out after his post therapy journaling that the doctors insisted on, and would sit on the far side of Steve’s couch as Steve sketched to the mindless background noise of the T.V.  

When Steve leaves for his mission his routine goes to shit; Bucky takes to pacing and laying in Steve’s bed inhaling his smell, not quite knowing why it comforts him the way it does. He tells his therapist its fine that Steve is gone, and they all give him a look and he knows that they know that he is lying (which is bad when you’re an ex-Hydra-Assassin). Fourteen days without Steve offering him bagels and snacks, Bucky’s maybe lost a few pounds. It’s hard to remember to eat, but the talking ceiling reminds him that there’s grapes in the fridge that remained stocked, and so he doesn’t worry about cooking. Instead he worries about Steve. Who’s watching the punk’s six? Is he being stupid and smiling at Snipers? What if he gets hurt, would anyone tell him? He hasn’t had any contact with the other Avengers since Stark. The thoughts race day and night and fill up his journal pages in between his bouts of pacing.

Standing stock still as the door clicks open, Bucky has no idea how to react. He’s tempted to rip Steve’s shirt (that he forgot he was wearing) off in order to not let on to his worries. He’s also tempted to hug Steve but Bucky doesn’t know if he can handle that amount of nice touch, not yet. So instead Bucky stares, eyes raking over Steve’s disheveled hair and his blood-and-grime streaked face. His hand raises then drops back to his side, caught between wanting to touch him and not quite being able to bring himself to do so. He makes a small noise in the back of his throat that has Steve dropping his shield (like an idiot) and walking towards him, long legs eating up the space between them, before hesitating. Steve settles for grabbing Bucky’s hand.

“Hey pal.” He says softly as Bucky’s eyes dart to the floor. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky says gruffly. A small thrill of pleasure makes its way up his arm as Steve’s thumb traces his knuckles.

“No.” Steve says, voice a little sharper than he means it to be, and Bucky’s eye jump up to his. “It’s not. Mission took longer than I thought, and I bet that was hard, being alone up here by yourself.

  
Bucky nods, hating to admit that things are hard, this world of having a freedom to whatever emotions his body feels is new and daunting. “Can yo- ...just, next...” Bucky blows out a breath, trying to remember what his therapists told him about admitting what he needs, that he was allowed to have needs. “Next time can you send a message somehow to let me know you’re okay?” His voice breaks at the end and he hates himself for it. Hates that Steve’s eyes go impossibly softer, turning him into a sad labrador. 

“Of course.” He squeezes Bucky’s hand once more before letting go. “Have you eaten?” He asks, head cocking to the side.

 “Um…Jarvis said there were grapes...so, yes.” Bucky replies.

 “You ate grapes?” Steve asks aghast. “For two weeks?” When Bucky only responds with a shrug Steve rolls his eyes. “Alright, let me go shower off the blood and muck then I’ll make us dinner, okay?” Bucky’s still staring at the floor and Steve can’t resist placing his index finger under Bucky’s chin until their eyes meet. “Okay Bucky?”

Bucky gives a little nod, eyes wide at the contact, and Steve can’t help it, following his instincts (desires?) he places a soft kiss on Bucky’s furrowed brow before heading to the shower.

_______

 _Some people got the real problems_  
_Some people out of luck_  
_Some people think I can solve them_  
Lord heavens above

Steve berates himself in the shower, he wants to punch his fist through the tile, he wants to scream at the tops of his lungs, he wants to pull Bucky so that he’s on top of him, moving against him, their lips connecting the way they did before the war, when he was smaller and Bucky was his safe haven. He wants it all to go away. Instead he settles for letting the hot water stream over his body as visions of Bucky’s wide gray eyes staring up at him in utter disbelief and confusion replay over and over in his mind. _Christ Rogers, really fucked it up this time. Great idea, kissing the PTSD ridden ex-assassin who barely remembers where he is every morning, brilliant plan, asshole._  

While Steve is showering, Bucky walks onto the main balcony and stares out at the happenings below. Every neuron in his body tells him to run. The logical part of his brain contradicts this as it’s hard to scale forty five floors when you’re wearing pajama pants, a borrowed shirt, and have no shoes or socks on. He settles instead for sitting on the large outdoor couch and watching the different lights pop on across the city as the sun sinks. He can’t determine if the wavering feeling in his gut is from the moment Steve put his lips to Bucky’s brow, or if he just feels too exposed sitting out in the open on a balcony. Probably both. He presses his lips together and replays the moment, along with other memories that keep dredging up out of nowhere since he’s lived with Steve. They’re a little hazy at best, four seconds clips of tiny Steve Rogers getting knocked out in an alleyway and standing right back up, Steve in a ridiculous outfit pulling him out of a Hydra base, Steve staring at him on a bridge all doe-eyed and confused, murmuring his name, Steve’s lips brushing his as they sneak into the woods, laughing at how big Steve is now. Bucky murmuring into Steve’s ear about how pretty he looks while he’s flushed and ridi-

“Hey, Buck.”

Bucky startles from his thoughts, a deep flush riding up his neck as Steve sits on the couch, leaving a foot between them. Steve clears his throat as Bucky stares down at his hands; the only other alternative is letting his eyes rake over freshly showered Steve, and neither him nor his pajama pants can handle that right now.

“I, um…I need to apologize.” Steve says gruffly and Bucky peeks at him from the corner of his eye.

“Apologize?”

Steve’s ears are tipped red and he too is now staring at his hands. “I shouldn’t…earlier...I shouldn't have kissed you earlier.”

“You callin’ that a kiss, Rogers?” Bucky has no idea where the accent or the brazen sentence comes from, he flinches and brings his knees up to the couch, hugging them close to his chest and burying his forehead against them in solace. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” He murmurs.

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Steve turns his body, hand reaching out to rest lightly on Bucky’s shoulder. “It has to be hard…”

Bucky can’t hold back the scoff of irony. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. I keep having these flashes. Different eras, different situations. Some of them awful...the things they had me do, Steve.” His body shivers as he hugs his knees tighter. “I’ve done awful things.”

“That wasn’t you, Buck.” Steve says adamantly, his hand coming up to squeeze the back of Bucky’s neck in such a familiar gesture that Bucky’s breath catches. 

“It feels like it was me. I remember all of them. And then I go to sleep and I relive it all over again. I wake up and I don’t know where I am, and then I see you…” His voice trails off, he can’t bring himself to come out from behind the shield of his knees, he can't bare to see Steve’s face

_Don't ask my opinion_

_Don't ask me to lie_

“You see me?” Steve asks, thumb stroking along Bucky’s neck, unable to stop the gesture.

“I see you and I remember... “ Steve’s thumb stills and Bucky cringes, these memories must be wrong. Planted by Hydra. But they consume him like fire and he has to know, he has to know they are real. Looking up from his knees, his eyes are sad as he stares into Steve’s. “I remember you. I remember you were so tiny and sick and full of fury. You would sketch me for hours when I wasn’t workin’, and you would get so mad when I came home from being out with dames.” He looks away from Steve and out into the city. “I never understood why you were so mad and then one night you didn’t come home, and Christ I thought you were dead in some back alley but you came home drunk as a skunk, with lipstick smeared across your cheek, and I…I…” He cringes at the rest of the memory, unable to finish.

“And you took one look at me and laid into me about how irresponsible it was for me to stay out so late, and for some floozy at that.” Steve grinned at the memory, removing his hand from Bucky’s neck and dragging it through his own damp hair. “God, Patty O’Hara gave me my first kiss that night and you were so ticked at me for comin’ home late. You didn’t talk to me for a week.”

“So it’s real?” Bucky knows he should ask about the rest, it’s on the tip of his tongue. Ask about the forest, delicate Steve writhing under him, Steve getting pissed when Bucky brought a girl home for appearances, Steve after his serum begging Bucky to let him cum after hours of keeping him right on the edge before their mission. Surely… “What about…” He breaks off as Steve’s stomach growls and he gives Buck a sheepish grin. “Sorry. You should eat, Steve.”

“We should eat, Buck. You can’t just live on grapes, ya know?” Steve nudges him before standing, holding out a hand in a gesture remarkably similar to a few months ago. “C’mon, gonna make some stir fry, then we’ll watch a movie.”

Bucky lets his left hand fall into Steve’s right as Steve tugs him off the porch couch. “Have you seen Titanic yet? Some skinny blonde dude gets people naked and draws them.”

Steve laughs, tugging Bucky back into the apartment. “Sounds oddly familiar.”

_____

Bucky uses his chopsticks surprisingly well as he scarfs his food down with his eyes glued to the screen. It’s the first time Steve’s seen him actually relax enough to seem less ex-hydra-assassin-PTSD-worn-amnesiac, and more…himself, whomever that may be now. He’s watching Bucky more than the movie and he knows it, but the way Bucky’s face reacts to the ridiculous drama that plays out on the screen keeps Steve enthralled. He may not understand when Bucky has had time to watch Titanic in his years with Hydra, but he’s not going to risk ruining the moment. Bucky’s on his third bowl by the time Jack is showing off his naked lady pictures and Bucky throws a grin at Steve so startlingly beautiful that Steve nearly drops a noodle in his lap.

“Told ya Stevie. Hot skinny blonde dude drawing nudes.” He turns back to the T.V, completely missing the effect the usage of Steve’s old nickname has on Steve.

 “You didn’t call him hot earlier.” Steve smirks, getting up to rinse out his bowl, looking back only briefly to see the tips of Bucky’s ears turn pink. He shouldn’t flirt, not when Bucky’s just now slightly acting like Steve’s not a stranger. Walking back to Bucky he raises his eyebrows. “Want more?”

 Bucky shakes his head, offering Steve a small smile as Steve takes the bowl from him. “Thanks. For dinner. Well...and every other meal for the past few months.”

 “Don’t mention it, pal.” Steve replies, putting the bowls into dishwasher before settling himself back on his end of the couch.

_____

  
_Then beg for forgiveness_  
_For making you cry_  
_Making you cry_

Celin Dion’s voice shakes Steve out of his doze as the credits of the movie begin to roll. Glancing over at Bucky, who’s on his side with his fist tucked neatly under his chin, he sees that he’s not the only one who succumbed to sleep. Turning the movie off blankets the room in darkness, and Steve looks back at Bucky who rests peacefully. Is it better to wake him and move him to his room so he doesn’t wake up somewhere he doesn’t know? Or just leave him on the couch? Steve considers both options before going with the former. Kneeling next to the man he gently says his name, hand gently stroking his forearm.

“Bucky...hey Buck, time to get up.” He murmurs gently.

 Bucky comes out of sleep fighting, left arm flying as it connects with a solid object as his eyes instantly check the unfamiliar surroundings and the threat currently lying on the floor cupping it’s jaw… _Oh shit._ _Not a threat._ _Shit shit shit._ He’s off the couch and kneeling next to Steve, fingers hesitating before settling for the man’s arm. “Steve, oh Christ. Are you okay?” He knows the answer, he can see the man working his jaw back and forth assessing the damage.

“ ‘M fine Bucky.” Steve mumbles, the pain already ebbing as his body works on healing the bruise.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry Steve, I didn’t know where I was and I…”

“Panicked?” Steve supplies, sitting up.

Bucky looks down at his hands. “Yeah.”

“Hey, it’s really okay, I probably would have done the same thing. It’s fine, I’m fine. A little ironic as I thought it would freak you out to wake up in the living room in the morning when you’re just getting used to your room.” Steve says with a shrug, wincing a bit when he tries for a lopsided smile.

The admission doesn’t help the sick feeling in Bucky’s stomach.

“I’m serious Buck, I literally won’t even have a bruise in a few hours.” Steve grins assuredly.

“I shouldn’t be here, Steve.” Bucky mumbles.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, panic rolling through his gut.

With a sigh Bucky looks up at Steve as Steve stares at him, eyes wide with worry. “I’m a risk to you. You’re already dumb enough to leave your shield out of reach, you don’t know how I’m going to react to certain things, hell I don’t even know how I’m going to react. This isn’t safe for you.”

There’s a thundering silence at Bucky’s admission and he looks up at Steve when he can’t take not knowing how he’ll respond anymore. He’s met with one raised eyebrow and pursed lips.

“You done being a melodramatic fuck?” Steve asks, feigning boredom.

Bucky scrunches his nose before looking back at the ground “...I’m not being melodramatic...you’re being an idiot.”

“Fine, I’m an idiot. But listen here,” Steve presses his fingers under Bucky’s chin forcing his eyes up again, “if you think I’m letting you leave me again after I just got you back then you’re dumber than you look.”

Bucky’s stomach clenches as Steve stares pointedly, eyes going soft. 

“I’ve waited for years to have you back, for you to finally trust me enough to get you help and hopefully make up for 70 years of the fuck-all you’ve had to deal with. So if you think one shittily thrown haymaker is gonna make me change my mind, then you’re an idiot.” His hand moves to cup Bucky’s jaw softly before patting his cheek. “C’mon, go to bed and dream of learning how to throw a punch.”

Rolling his eyes while standing, Bucky scoffs even as the warmth of familiarity fills him. “I could take you down any time, jerk.”

Steve shoves him a little on their way to their rooms. “Whatever you say, punk.”

  
They both hesitate outside of their doors, words just on the tips of their tongues swallowed down as Steve bites his bottom lip and Bucky stares at his feet.

“Night Stevie.” Bucky says before shutting his door. 

“Goodnight Buck.”

_____

  _Oh, some people got the real problems_

_Some people out of luck_

_Some people think I can solve them_

At his next therapy session Bucky meets with both of his therapists and tells them everything. It take six hours and Steve paces the floor of the apartment like a mad dog as he waits. His head jerks up a few times as they take breaks, a therapist grabbing water bottles or Bucky jetting to the bathroom before going back into his room, avoiding Steve’s gaze.

Both therapists praise Bucky for opening up, for telling them as many details as he can remember starting from the day he first enlisted to the day he realized he was losing his memories with every torturous mind-fuck Hydra puts him through. He makes a list, at the therapists’ behest, of every single person he can remember killing. Listening as they each explain the psychological impact of repeated torture over prolonged periods of time, and how that has warped his cognitive abilities to process information in a linear manner, however the longer he spends with his brain not in a blender, the more linear his memories will become.

“Some of your memories might be fuzzy, some will slam into you, others may creep up.” His PTSD therapist, Maria, states. “What you have to do is embrace it and let yourself feel them. It’s almost as if you’re afraid of the easiest ones. The ones of your time with Steve in the 40’s.” It’s not a question, and they all know it.

 Bucky’s blush runs high as he glances at the floor, before his hand his is covered by Maria’s. “It’s not a crime, and it’s not wrong. Do not let a 40’s stigma steal what could possibly be the most important memories you have about yourself and who you love.”

“I…” Bucky sighs and looks her in the eyes, “What if he doesn’t feel the same way? I’ve…I’ve done terrible things that I know are real. Everything with Steve feels like it never could have possibly happened to me. He’s...never really said anything since I’ve been back.” Bucky shrugs and Maria frowns before excusing herself for a restroom break.

_______

_Lord heavens above_

_I'm only human after all_

Don't put the blame on me

(Two months later)

  
_Crack._ The fist lands squarely on his jaw and The Asset doesn’t even flinch, in the far dredges of his mind the tiny particles that haven’t been zapped to shit and back, a voice screams a name over and over but it never reaches The Asset’s lips. It’s a name he’s not supposed to know. He’s kept the name hidden for so long, repressed somewhere so deep that no amount of torture can even touch it. But he’s fresh out of cryo, and everything is shuffling into place, and Alexander Pierce is staring at him slightly horrified and confused. He watches the tears run down The Asset’s face for the first time in over 70 years of captivity when he receives his orders to kill Steve Rogers. The little voice screams. It screams the name and a slew of curses in a mixture of languages as Pierce stares at him.

“You are a weapon, and weapons don’t weep. Wipe him again.”

His body moves on instinct. Laying back in the chair. He secretly hopes this is the one that breaks him, this is the one that ends it, this is the one that’ll end his brain and maybe if he’s lucky everything’ll go dark.

“Bucky!”

The Asset doesn’t know the name, but the voice sounds like a little slice of heaven as the machine clenches around his head and the bite is put between his teeth.

“Bucky, c’mon, wake up.”

 The Asset waits for the pain to come, body tensing as he clings to the sweet voice that keeps washing over him. Why does it sound like hope?

“God dammit baby, wake up!”

And then he’s warm, so fuckin’ warm, like they covered him with a blanket after shocking the life out of him. And that voice. God, what a voice.

_____

 _I'm only human_  
_I make mistakes_

(3 minutes earlier)

Steve jolts of out bed at the sound of the crash, grabbing his shield he slams into Bucky’s room without warning, eyes glued to the figure tensed up in bed, drenched in sweat with his eyes screwed shut. The lamp from the bedside table lays shattered on the floor near the window. Steve drops his shield as Bucky begins to chant the same thing over and over, his voice so distressed yet it comes out as a prayer.

 “Not Steve. You can’t. Not Steve. You won’t. No no no. Not your Stevie. Never Steve. You won’t. Don’t. Not Steve. No no no no.”

“Bucky!”

 Bucky’s teeth are grinding so hard that Steve stars to panic, the muscles in his jaw rivet together as he flenches.

“Bucky, c’mon, wake up.” He runs his hands down Bucky’s arms that stay fisted in the sheets as if his body is tied down with invisible cords.

The scream is blood curdling as his back bows off the bed.

“God dammit, baby wake up!”

Steve does the only thing he can think of…after months of making a point to not touch Bucky he curls into Bucky’s right side and holds him close, the way he used to when they were on missions together. Fingertips trailing up and down his arms lightly, he murmurs into Bucky’s ear.

“C’mon baby, wake up for me. It’s just a dream, baby. It’s all just a dream.” He pauses and Bucky’s still saying his name over and over but its a murmur instead of a scream. “That’s right baby it’s Stevie, you’re okay. We’re both okay. You’re home. You’re with me.” He strokes his hand through Bucky’s hair, smiling when he leans into the touch. “You’re safe. I got you, Bucky. Don’t you worry. I got you now. Not lettin’ anything happen to you.”

Bucky’s eyes startle open and he shoves as hard as he can at the force wrapped around him, hands clawing at the skin until the meaning of the words register. 

“Shh. Stop.” Steve commands. “Bucky, it’s me.”

“It can’t be you. They’ll find you.” He rushes, panic thickening his voice. “It’s not you. You- I- you can’t. No no no.”

 He pulls at the arm, tears sliding down his cheeks miserably as his eyes, still glazed with sleep, track over Steve’s face.

 “Please run. You have to go.”

 Steve has to fight to not shake him, to demand that he come fully back to consciousness. Instead he smiles, running his finger tips over Bucky’s cheek, gently wiping away the tears.

 “It’s me. They won’t find me. I’m right here with you.” Steve assures him, a small smile gracing his lips.

 “Can’t be you.” The fog is fighting to clear and Bucky blinks rapidly. “You have to go.”

 “It is me.” Steve leans his head forward slowly onto Bucky’s damp pillow, letting his nose run along the edge of Bucky’s. “I’m not leaving.”

 “You have to go, Steve.” Bucky whimpers, the final wave of sleep slowly abading. “Steve.” He groans at the closeness. Finally awake and wrapped in Steve Rogers’ arms. Not in an underground Hydra lab, not strapped to a table, not having his memories tortured out of him. He’s alive. Steve’s alive. He didn’t kill him. He listened to the voice. Not dead. Here.

“Steve.” His eyes grow wide as Steve gives him a sad little smile.

 “Hey, you back with me, pal?” Steve asks, pressing a kiss to his brow, not giving a fuck anymore about the lines he drew between them months ago.

 Bucky throws his arms around Steve, gathering him close as his heart continues to pound in his chest. “Christ I thought I killed you. I tried so hard not to kill you.”

 “I know you did, baby. I know.” Steve strokes up and down Bucky’s spine.

 “They added you to my list, and this voice...me? I think it was me…just kept saying I wasn’t allowed to. No matter what. I wouldn't have, couldn’t.” Bucky whimpers, burying his nose into Steve’s neck, pressing in as close as possible so every line of their bodies touches.

 “You didn't. I’m right here. You did so good, baby.” Steve murmurs, his cheek pressing into Bucky’s damp air as his fingers run up and down his spine.

 “Tell me this is real.” Bucky pleads, fingers racing along Steve’s shoulders, suddenly desperate to consume every inch of exposed skin. “Tell me we did this a hundred times seventy years ago, tell me this hasn’t just been a dream. A fake. Tell me you’re real and that we’re real. Tell me it’s not too late.” Bucky pleads, tears splash onto Steve’s chest as Bucky frantically pushes back, eyes searching Steve’s. “Promise me this is real. Because the memories I have of you, I need them to be real.”

Steve’s heart breaks as it mends, hand sliding up Bucky’s arm to cup his face. “It’s real. I’m real. We’ve done this a hundred times seventy years ago, and every time it felt just as good as the first. The first time we were twenty and had no clue what we were doing. You had finally gotten the balls to kiss me, and it felt like fire.” He watches Bucky’s eyes as they bore into his, filing away the information while images shuffle through his mind and memories resurface. “After that it was as much as possible. You went to war, I followed. I lost you and then I found you. I will always find you, Bucky Barnes.” He rubs his thumb along Bucky’s lips and watches as Bucky sighs into the touch with relief, pressing his lips against the pad and everything inside of Steve breaks as he cups the back of Bucky’s neck and pulls him down, their lips colliding in a rush of familiarity that has been seventy years in the making.

 

 _I'm only human_  
_I do what I can_  
_I'm just a man_ _  
_ I do what I can

Bucky sighs into the kiss, a rush of familiar warmth tingles up his spine. _Home. There it is. Took seventy years to get there, but there it is._ This he knows. How could he ever question the reality of his love for the man under him? His tongue runs along Steve’s plump bottom lip, and the response is a beautiful little rut of Steve’s hips, his hardened length brushing along Bucky’s. The swell in his heart nearly breaks him, his Stevie, already so ready for him. His lips trail away from Steve’s mouth with only minimal protest and instead capture that spot between his jaw that draws out a low deep moan, and Steve’s hands clench along Bucky’s naked back before his nails dig in, dragging deep red marks into the skin, and Bucky grins against him, moving up to brush his lips along the shell of his ear.

“Might have been seventy years doll, but I would never forget how to make you moan.”

Steve gasps and his hips cant against Bucky’s hip, desperate for friction as Bucky’s lips come back to capture his. Nibbling and teasing, swiping his tongue before kissing him gently. He kisses him for what seems like hours in a painstakingly teasing manner that has Steve whimpering.

“Please baby. Oh please.” He can’t focus when Bucky’s lips are clamped around his right nipple and his fingers roll the left. Tugging sharply before soothing little circles around it, repeating the actions over and over as the buds rise to attention.

“Please what, Stevie?” Bucky rolls the bud between his teeth, nibbling it lightly before releasing it to blow a stream of cool air across. Watching the goosebumps rise along Steve’s skin as his chest heaves, gasping for air. “Remember doing this to you when you were just a little thing, baby.” He flattens his tongue along the bud. “Feels like yesterday.” He gives a little laugh. “Remember you telling me you weren’t no dame. Tried battin’ me away.” Bucky flicks the nipple with his middle finger and Steve throws his head back. “Gotta tell you doll, think I could play with your tits all night and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

It’s too much. Steve’s eyes roll as his hips continue their motion, over and over again into Bucky’s hip, dampening his pajama pants with precum. His eyes close to the sound Bucky’s Brooklyn lilt, flashes of their dingy apartment and Bucky’s beautiful smile greeting him from the same position. His eyes pop open to that same broad grin, cocky and trusting.

“Love when you look at me like that doll, I’d give you whatever you wanted if it meant you had your pretty blue eyes always locked on mine.” Steve’s release hits him like a freight train, out of nowhere and hard as he bows of the bed and Bucky grins through the whole thing, feeling the wet spot grow along his hip and wanting nothing more than to watch Steve cum for the rest of the night. “God baby, look at you so wound up. Think I can get you hard again?” Bucky asks and Steve grins, face angelic and soft as he comes down from the high.

“Bet it won’t even get soft.” He murmurs with a shit eating grin.

“God bless America.” Bucky laughs, and it’s the sweetest sound Steve has ever heard. “Let’s get these off, shall we?” He asks, tugging at Steve’s sticky pants. Watching the flushed damp cock slap into Steve’s stomach, still hard. “Oh sweet heart,” Bucky murmurs, kicking his own pants off before climbing back between Steve’s thighs. “Look at this. Pretty as a fuckin’ picture, aren’t you doll?” He licks a stripe up the underside of the thick length and moans as the familiar taste of Steve’s cum coats his tongue. “God yes. Taste so good baby. Better than I remember.” He kisses it gently, then teasingly, and smiles as Steve’s hands begin to card through his hair. “You know what to do, baby. Don’t be shy.” Bucky says before lapping at the head, as Steve’s fingers tighten in his hair. “That’s right doll, take what you want baby.” Bucky commands before wrapping his lips around Steve’s girth and moaning at the delicious sin that is Steve Rogers fucking relentlessly into his mouth. _Nothing changes,_ he briefly thinks as Steve pants his name, hips thrusting deep as Bucky fights to relax his throat and take Steve’s cock back as far he can. Spit is pooling around Steve’s balls and Bucky just can’t resist swirling a finger through it and rubbing delicately at Steve’s furled hole.

“FUCK!” Steve screams, the second orgasm hitting as Bucky takes everything Steve has to offer, throat working diligently to swallow every last drop.

Popping off with a little gasp and a smirk, Bucky doesn’t give Steve time to recoup. Throwing Steve’s legs over his shoulders he maneuvers himself on to his knees, practically folding Steve in half before burying his tongue into Steve’s hole. Probing and pushing, letting the flat of his tongue first swirl around the sensitive edge before licking all the way in.

“Taste so fuckin’ good baby. I missed your sweet little hole.” He punctuates his words with a kiss right on it, watching as the racing flush makes it way from Steve’s chest to his cheeks. Licking in again over and over, he feels Steve relax at the familiarity, whimpering with every lavished touch. “Lube, baby.” He commands, and Steve’s hand flails to the bedside table, desperately searching the drawer before practically throwing it at Bucky.

Bucky laughs, lowering Steve’s legs back down and peppering kisses over his thighs while working open the cap to the bottle. Bucky feels lighter than air as he watches Steve fighting for breath, nipples hard, cock still brutally erect as he writhes on the bed.

“I want…” He whimpers, when Bucky nips sharply at his inner thigh.

“Tell me what you want baby, anything. I’ll give you anything.”

“Your…” Steve blushes staring up at the ceiling.

Bucky’s head cocks to the side with a smirk as his flesh fingers circle his hole. “C’mon babe, spit it out. ‘Ts just me.”

“Want your other fingers.” He mumbles, and cringes when Bucky’s fingers still completely.

“Oh.”

“No no, never mind.” Steve rushes. “I don’t…that was stupid, I shouldn’t have even sai- ” He gasps as the cold metal brushes his hole for the first time, fire dancing along his skin as every nerve ending in his body hoans in on the delicious curiosity for whatever comes next. “Bucky!” He gasps when the cold slicked metal breaches his rim, curling delicately inside him over and over, making him pant.

“What my baby wants, my baby gets.” Bucky places a kiss to Steve’s hip, watching in awe as Steve thrusts himself onto his finger, before he adds another and he moans loud enough to wake the city. He has the brief thought that he could never tell Steve no. Not when it means watching the man who has been taking care of him for months…years really, fuck himself on his fingers for his own pleasure.

He twists his fingers, curling them up, searching for the little... “OH FUCK!” Steve’s hips come off the bed, hands flying into Bucky’s hair, trying to find some semblance of balance to bring him back down to earth. “Please, baby, please. I need you. I can’t…”

“Not yet sweetheart, gotta stretch you first.” Scissoring his fingers before adding another. “That pretty little super soldier ass is too tight. Don’t want to hurt you.”

Steve scoffs between gasps. “Super soldier. I’ll heal. Get in me.” He demands.

“No.” Bucky stills his fingers and Steve’s eyes fly to his, pressing a kiss to Steve’s hip he sucks a little bruise that he knows will be gone in seconds. “You’re gonna be nice and patient for my cock, sweetheart.” Which he fails to mention is hard and leaking on the sheets under him, desperate to be buried in Steve’s warmth again. “You’re gonna let me open this hole up.” He punctuates his words by scissoring his fingers. “And then you’re gonna take my fat cock one inch at a time until I bottom out into your beautiful hole.”

The words wash over him as the tips of Bucky’s fingers run over his prostate. Steve’s ass wiggles, chasing the sensations and Bucky thrusts his fingers, angeling away to the point that Steve’s hips move on their own accord, desperately making little circular thrusts to reclaim the feeling. “Bucky please. Please, wanna cum again. Please baby…” Steve begs.

“Next time you cum it’ll be with my cock inside you. No matter how eager your pretty ass is being for me.” He pushes his three fingers in as far as they’ll go, starting a rigorous pace that has Steve making small whining sounds in the back of his throat as each thrust only barely grazes his prostate.

“Oh fuck. Need you so bad.”

“I know, doll.” Bucky answers, gently sliding his fingers out and watching Steve’s whole flutter around nothing. “Think you’re ready, baby?”

“Please.”

“I don’t know, might need to get back in there, make sure you can really take it.” Bucky teases.

“No no no, please, Buck? I’m ready. Please put your cock in me. Please. I need it, I need yo-  Oh…” His eyes roll into the back of his head as Bucky rubs the blunt of head of his cock around Steve’s hole, smearing his precum along the ring, and grinning madly at Steve’s frustrated sigh. “Bucky, goddam- ” The breath is punched out of him as Bucky slides in, head falling back as Steve’s tight heat surrounds him. Inch by painstaking inch he slides in, hands gripping Steve under his thighs and drawing his knees up to get even deeper.

Steve’s voice is thready as it moans Bucky’s name, flashes of the first time on replay through his head, when Bucky stared at him in awe as he finally bottomed out into Steve little body. Now Bucky’s staring at him hungrily, hips moving in tiny thrusts as if he’s testing the sensations and soaking them all in all at once.

“Sweetheart.” He coos, love flooding his system as he leans down, dropping one of Steve’s legs to catch himself on his hand by Steve’s head, capturing his lips in a warm wet kiss. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.” He murmurs into the kiss, rolling his hips until the head of his cock catches along Steve’s rim, before slowly sliding back in. “You’re everything, Steve.” He pulls out again, giving a tiny thrust before sheathing himself within Steve. “You are my everything.” He’s kissing him long and hard before coming back up on his knees, gripping the leg he dropped he watches as a tear makes its way down Steve’s cheek as his pace quickens. “My sweet baby,” he breathes, cock angled to brush along Steve’s prostate with every thrust. “You are everything, Stevie.” He chants it over and over, as it becomes hard to think. All he can feel is Steve’s warmth tightening around his cock as Steve moans his name. Love and pleasure overwhelming them both as Steve begins to beg.

“I’m...baby, I need. Oh fuck fuck fuck. I’m gonna…I need to, please Bucky.” The heat in both of their bodies coils tighter and tighter  

“Touch yourself baby, cum for me. Please cum with me baby, need to watch you cum with my cock inside of you.”

Steve’s hand wraps around his cock and fucks into it in time with Bucky’s thrusts, his hole clenches tight around Bucky’s cock and Steve’s bowing off the bed as his release takes over, a wave of pleasure flooding his senses as Bucky fucks him through it, hips pumping while moaning Steve’s name as he empties himself inside of his hole.

They’re both fighting for breath as the onslaught of pleasure slowly ebs away. Releasing Steve’s legs, Bucky gently pulls out, before laying his body across Steve’s, accepting the fact that they are both going to be covered in cum for the time being. He captures Steve’s lips in a lazy kiss, and a small hum of contentment passes through them when Bucky pulls back to rest his forehead against Steve’s.

“I’ve missed you so much, Buck.” Steve sighs, eyes closing with the comforting familiar weight of Bucky’s body lying across his own.

“I love you.” Is the only way Bucky can think to reply, watching as Steve’s eyes pop open, so blue and full of warmth.

Brushing his fingers along Bucky’s cheek, he murmurs the words he hasn’t been able to say for the past seventy years. “I love you, too.”

  
_Don't put the blame on me_ _  
_ _Don't put your blame on me_

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it?! This has been a work in progress, that one fic that sits on the back burner while you try to finish your 13 chapter story that uses up your whole brain. This one was just gonna be a Bucky returns and they have sex, and then some how emotions got in the way of that. I hope you liked it, please leave kudos, comments, and (constructive) critism. <3 Comments always inspire me to write.
> 
> Have a request for a Stucky fic? Send me a message on [Tumblr](https://love-ha-fge.tumblr.com/)


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